The train stopped coming by months ago.
noise dept.
★
ojovivo
Sweet Seals For You, Always
taylor price
Noah Kahan
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@theartofmadeline
hello vonnie
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blake kathryn
cherry valley forever
occasionally subtle
Not today Justin
Interview Vampire Daily
RMH

bliss lane

Jar Jar Binks Fan Club
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
seen from Congo - Brazzaville
seen from Argentina

seen from United States
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seen from Switzerland

seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye

seen from Malaysia
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@thisoldblogidontuse-blog
The train stopped coming by months ago.
The hardest part of dialogue is inputting dialectal speech without making it all sound so rough and... countryish. But it’s the funnest part of character development. What kind of words would a person in this situation, from this place use? What would they never say? So many options!
Hoi! I'm switching blogs, as I want to make my writing blog my main! The url is the same, theoremofwhat, so go on over there! I won't be posting much else here.
Christ. I'm writing a short story about a nightmare from my childhood, and just trying to recall details of it is setting me on edge. It's possible that this is only scary to me, or this shit is actually horrifying. I hope to post it on Scribeophile by the end of the week.
(Fact Source) for more facts, follow Ultrafacts
2000 years later: “The strange glyphs appearing on gravestones from the early 21st century onward remain a mystery. These astoundingly complex patterns (no two exactly the same) have been found on many other 21st century artifacts, and are believed to have religious significance. Recovered images suggest they were probably sacred to the ancient North American god, Apple, and were meant to ensure that the departed would continue to be financially successful in the afterlife.”
As an archaeologist I can confirm that that is pretty much exactly what will happen in the future.
Reincarnation is real. It is said that when you come across your body from a previous life, you regain your memories. Today, at a museum, you come across an exhibit and start to remember.
Actual cannibal Shia LaBeauf
There's something magical about meeting with a writing buddy in B&N's cafe to talk about your story and craft.
Write an incredibly light happy story with an extremely dark twist.
i just want to say, for people reblogging this, that this is called the “rule of thirds” and the tips i wrote here by no means are things that you HAVE to do! these are just tips i use for myself, i kind of made up the bubble rule and i dont even know if im using the rule right haha so there theres that! i just like to use it so i know my bubbles have a place to go
examples of me using rule of thirds to separate elements in “Rachael and Penny”
i got the information a long time ago from a thread on penciljack called Storytelling 101, specifically this image
there is tons of information on rule of thirds available, i know eyecager has a post that dips into it ….
What What!?
Ya’ll can now find me on WritersCafe, http://www.writerscafe.org/AmandaThomas
I’ll be posting short stories up there, I’m pretty excited about it.
A cup of coffee is not breakfast. A cup of coffee is not breakfast. A cup of coffee is not breakfast. A cup of cofFEE IS NOT BREAKFAST.
At least, I need to convince my ADHD of this
if Broadway doesn’t want bootlegs floating around then they need to get their act together and make legal recordings. you can say all you want that theater is meant to be enjoyed live, but the fact of the matter is not everybody can get to NYC to go to a Broadway show. not everybody can afford to take the time off of work and buy a plane ticket to NYC and buy a night in a hotel AND get the ticket to the show. people want to see the shows, that’s why there’s a bootleg market in the first place, but it’s unreasonable to expect that everyone has the time, money, and ability to make it out to the one place in the world to see something on Broadway, especially if it’s a limited engagement. so record that shit, slap some subtitles on it, and sell it so we can buy it legally.
Reblogging this every time I see it. Copyright is important for creators but it should not support cultural elitism. Affordability and accessibility of cultural content is key unless we want to live in a very divided society.
You’re in charge of assigning every child on Earth the monster under their bed. One child in particular has caused every monster assigned to him/her to quit. You decide to assign yourself.
Case: #273402 Status: Disastrous.
I stare at the file and realize I have no options, over the last 2 years every monster assigned to Charlotte Dower has quit, every last one. Her first monster; a giant goldfish-faced humanoid named Bubba, had been with her for four years, and then she wasn’t scared of him anymore. After that it was a string of different common, uncommon, and rare monsters… I even assigned a sentient sock monster to her. He came back crying! I look on my tablet, only one assignable monster left; myself. Field work has never been my cup of tea, but desperate times call for desperate measures. So at 8:03 pm, after Mrs. Gideon tucks in Charlotte and her little brother Daniel; I slither into the space beneath Charlotte’s bed. Across the room underneath Daniel’s crib is a rookie, Chico, a standard Creep kind of monster. I turn my attention to the bed above me, Charlotte is still awake but barely, I reach up over the bed and run an ice cold finger over her cheek, silence, so I do it again. “I’m not afraid of you monster!” She whispers, but her voice is shaking. I can see a small clock on the wall 8:14, a door somewhere in the house slams and there is an audible hitch of breath from above me. A few minutes go by I can hear Francis Gideon yelling at his wife. There are heavy footsteps on the stairs, and loud panting breaths, Charlotte scrambles off the bed and… She. CRAWLS. Under. The. Bed. With. Me. “Move. Over!” Charlotte hisses at me. I do. The door to the bedroom slams open and I smell the stench of human intoxicants before the man even steps inside. I know why Charlotte isn’t afraid of any of my monsters; she’s afraid of her own. Francis reaches a hand under the bed and I thrust my wrist into it, he starts to pull, I slither out. “What the…” I cut Francis’s next words off by unfolding to my full 12 foot height. Looming over the drunken man I caress my cold fingers down his face. “If you ever touch, scare, or harm my child again, I will find you, and I will do the same to you, for all eternity.” I promise to him. As Francis runs from the room he soils himself. I pull Charlotte from under the bed, tuck her back under her covers and kiss her forehead goodnight. “I’ll be back tomorrow night, sleep well darling.” Charlotte Dower is my child, I am the monster under her bed.
WELL GODAMN, WE HAVE OURSELVES A WINNER
Holy shit I’m gonna cry that’s beautiful.
Every single cursed moment of my tumblr existence has led me here. I am whole. I am complete.
More, please.
It's a good feeling when your writing creeps out someone who plays and watches scary ass shit for fun.
Storytime.
Write to write. Write because you need to write. Write to settle the rage within you. Write with an internal purpose. Write about something or someone that means so much to you, that you don’t care what others think.
Nick Miller (via psych2go)